Part the Second: Bad Moods and Bickering

Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Or possibly his more alive son Christopher. Sterransen is my own invention, my love, my precioussss….

The Sun had risen, casting her first tendrils of light over the Elven city of Rivendell. It was, by routine, a time of serene awakenings. Inhumanly beautiful elves would rouse themselves without a grumble, greeting the morning with smiles and songs. The shift of guards would change, fatigued watchers being relieved of their duties by fresher delegates. Such was the norm in Rivendell.

Well, not today.

"Legolas!"

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, jerked out of a very pleasurable dream involving himself, his girlfriend in white robes, a cool stream, and a conspicuous lack of an audience.

"Wha…?"

Sterransen stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed. Sterransen, his younger brother, blond, exceedingly handsome, and seventh in line to the throne, I might add.

"Aren't you supposed to be leaving on your quest now, Legolas?"

"Five minutes," Legolas mumbled, tugging the blanket up over his head.

"The rest of the Fellowship is in the courtyard waiting for you, and your hair is a mess," Sterransen continued unfeelingly.

Legolas, now fully awake, bit back a curse and darted out of bed. Within five minutes he was dressed, his hair was perfect, and he was scurrying down the stairs to the rest of his Company.

"Ah, there you are, Legolas," Gandalf remarked dryly. "We were starting to think you had mis-took the day of our departure."

"Huh?" said Pippin, who was busy paying more attention to the inaudible rumbles of his stomach than anything else. "Did someone call?"

Legolas ignored them both. "Goodbye, Sterransen," he said, turning back to his brother. "Take care of yourself. Send my love to Father." They shook hands, formally. The Fellowship turned their backs on Rivendell and stepped out onto the road. They continued along the path, some whistling, some singing softly, some muttering to themselves, and others complaining about how hungry they were.

"No one forced you to come with us," Gimli snapped, putting an end to Pippin's laments.

"Why did Lord Elrond not come to see us off?" asked Legolas.

"He did," replied Gimli. "You missed him. You were having an extended period of beauty sleep, I understand."

"Which you obviously have never gotten enough of, Master Dwarf," Legolas retorted.

"Was that a crack about my looks, elf?" Gimli roared, putting a hand on the hilt of his axe.

"That wasn't a crack, you gorse bush, that was an insult!" Legolas yelled back.

Aragorn leaped forward and wrestled Gimli back, stopping him from strangling Legolas with his bare hands. "How are we going to stand up to Sauron if we bicker amongst ourselves right from the word go?" he said to Gimli, reproachfully.

Gimli sulked, "He started it."

"That argument only works in kindergarten, and I don't care who started it," Aragorn said sternly. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Merry stifled a snigger.

As Gimli seethed, Legolas patted him condescendingly on the head. "Temper, temper, Master Dwarf."

Gimli stomped ahead, swearing in colourful Dwarvish. "Shut up, stupid elf," he called back.

"When you do, half-witted dwarf," Legolas shouted, grinning.

"Shut up, Legolas," Aragorn said in Elvish.

Legolas seriously considered saying, "Make me," then decided against it. Aragorn might choose that as an excuse to reveal the embarrassing incident of… never mind.

* * * * * * *

The day wore on. The Walkers continued in sullen silence. Pippin was hungry, Gimli was plotting revenge against Legolas, Boromir was worrying about God-knows-what, Aragorn was mapping their route in his head. Gandalf and the hobbits were trudging along with immensely bored expressions.

Legolas had firmly decided that his hair needed a wash. He couldn't let his standards slip just because he was on a mission to Mordor. He was the sole representative of the elves, and it was his burden to make the elves look good. Which brought him back to the point: his hair needed a wash.

"Aragorn," he called, "When do we set up camp?"

Aragorn didn't even pause. "We do not stop until nightfall."

"Lazy elf," Gimli added.

So now Legolas was sulking. And Pippin was hungry. The Fellowship were not in a collectively good mood.

* * * * * * *

Not a moment too soon, it was dusk. Aragorn halted the company and began unrolling sleeping bags. Legolas said hurriedly, "I'll take first watch," and retrieved something from his rucksack before dashing out of the clearing.

"Where's he going?" Boromir asked, puzzled.

"I hear running water in that direction," responded Aragorn, glad to be able to flaunt his Ranger skills. "Perhaps he is thirsty from all that singing."

Boromir grunted in agreement.

Sam cooked dinner and they ate. It was Gimli, strangely enough, who remembered to save some for Legolas. Everyone else was of the opinion that if the elf didn't turn up for food, that was his problem. But Gimli insisted, and no one had enough strength to argue or question his motives. A quarter of an hour later, everyone was asleep. (Really. They inhaled dinner, then crawled into their sleeping bags.)

To be more accurate, everyone was asleep except for Aragorn. Having nothing better to do, he went to look for Legolas.

He pushed his way through the thick ferns by the riverside. He stopped, and stared in amazement, at Legolas who was sitting on the bank doing something he'd never seen before. It took him a while to find his voice.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

-end part two-

Some words from the Author:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter (AJ Matthews, Laura, Mitheithel, Arwen Lune, Elven Beauty, Gabrielle Lawson, Draco Malfoy N Harry Potter, Blondie) and persuaded me to continue this story. Any suggestions are welcome as I really have no idea where this fic is heading. Flames are also welcome, because they make me laugh and I can use them to light the gas cooker on my camping trip next weekend.